Work Text:
Ace is confined to his room, as a sort of compromise. Some of the crew had suggested the brig, as a precaution, but Pops had denied such a request, saying that Ace was harmless despite his words.
Ace, having been nothing but his usual self, had been surprised by the sudden escalation, of the sharp looks and how his brothers and sisters had begun to reach for their weapons. Even Thatch, who was awfully soft on him, took a step back from Ace when he had came out onto the deck.
When Ace had asked what had happened, why they were looking at him and treating him differently - the looks had grown sharper and lips had curled. Fear had struck Ace then, unable to reach out to a brother or sister for they would retreat or twitch for their arms.
There's a knock on the door before it is opened, and Marco enters, a tray of food in hand. Ace's stomach grumbles when the smell hits him, but his gut was still twisting with anxiety from the morning.
"Marco, what's going on?" Ace asks as his brother sets the food down onto the desk. Marco twitching as he turns to face Ace.
"Pops says you don't understand what you're saying," Marco grits his teeth. "Do you not hear your own words, Ace?"
"I know what I'm saying," Ace begins. "Can't you hear me?"
"What's going on, Marco?"
"..Why are you looking at me like that.."